


Dorian Had Tattoos

by Sonamae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Are We Flirting Or Are We Dancer, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Mentioned Trauma Recovery with Alcohol, Multi, Protective Cullen Rutherford, Protective Iron Bull, Reacting Badly to Situations, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 09:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17598755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamae/pseuds/Sonamae
Summary: When people find out you know how to give tattoos they get weird.





	Dorian Had Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of OT3 fic I wrote ages ago that I got tired of looking at in my WIP folder. I slapped an ending on it and just went "Ehh that'll do." Osira's accent is also more or less the one I had growing up, which was very awful and Southern and hard to understand.

Most people didn’t even know Dorian _had_ tattoos, let alone that he gave most of them to himself. Lavellen knew, but honestly she knew _everything_. Krem probably assumed, but that was just because he was from Tevinter. He probably thought it was a small rune or something, like most Altus got as their graduation sigil.

The smallest piece he had though was tucked against the base of his skull, covered by the growth of his hair so no one would ever have to bother him about it. No one would recognize it besides Krem. Well, maybe _Leliana_ would, possibly The Iron Bull.

The piece was simple, a Tevene rune he’d gotten in defiance and statement. Felix had laughed at him for weeks after he’d asked for it. Triangles crossing with jutting lines that stabbed outward, a symbol for men who loved men, a truly taboo piece. His friend had taken his time and used dark purple ink that blended in with the color of his hair. Felix’s hands had been years from being unsteady with the needle at that point.

His father would have carved it off of him had he ever gotten a proper look at it.

That was just one of many, but not the one he’d done for his graduation. That one spanned his entire right forearm from elbow to the top of his middle knuckle. When Lavellan had seen it she’d joked that it was Dorian’s very own anchor, and she’d been surprised when he’d agreed with her.

“A staff is as good a focus as anything, but it isn’t a _challenge_. A challenge is casting without, a challenge is being your _own_ focus.” He’d explained it with great delight, mapping out each line and connection, describing their purpose. Lavellan had, in turn, mapped out her Vallaslin with him and explained what it meant to her, what goddess she swore to because of it.

They had sat in her room crowded by the fire, mapping out each of their scars and tattoos well into morning. And then of course the next day Lavellan had announced at the dining table that she was going to get a new tattoo from ‘an artist from Tevinter.’

Dorian had made the quickest exit possible before she could corner him and properly ask. If word got out he knew his way around a needle... _well_ , people already spit on him when he walked past. No reason to add more fuel to an already nasty fire.

Sadly, things weren’t so cut and dry.

Krem cornered him in the library, which in retrospect he should have known would happen. If he’d really wanted to hide he would have gone somewhere innocuous. But no, old habits died hard and all that.

“Lavellan isn’t bringing anyone new to Skyhold.” Was all Krem had said at first, a flat statement as the candle light flickered over his armor. He was standing against the other side of the table, arms crossed with that subtle but judgmental look on his face.

“No, she isn’t.” Dorian refused to look up from his book, even went as far as scooting his candle closer.

“I don’t know how to use those needles.” Another statement. “Process of elimination isn’t that hard, seeing as there are only two men from Tevinter in all of Skyhold.” This time Dorian did look up. Krem was staring hard at the table now, fists clenched around the edge until his knuckles went white. “I should have guessed, you don’t have a drop of ink on-”

“Wrong.” Dorian dog eared the page he’d been reading from and unbuckled the sleeve of his armor. He tugged the leather down, showing off the bright red lines until Krem looked at them and made a surprised grunt, then covered his wrist back up. “I have plenty of ‘ _drops_ ’ to my name, I’m just keen on keeping them _warm_.” The buckle snapped shut with a finality. “Now. Can I help you?”

And there it was, the look Dorian knew all too well. Krem swallowed, releasing the table and rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you teach me-”

“No.” Dorian shook his head.

“What, too good for you?” Krem snapped, a bitter tone in his voice.

“Krem, don’t paint me in such _dour_ colors. The needles require magic to work properly.” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t do that barbaric poke and stick tattoo work that the Fereldin’s call ‘ _tattooing_.’ If you want a guaranteed infection, feel free to learn that from any pirate on a dock.” He lifted his book, ready to open it back up.

Krem’s hand rested atop the book as he bent forward, his fingers trembling as he glared at the table. “I wanted to learn to do my own.” He stated. “I already know what I want, even where I want it.” Krem looked up, searching for the words to get his point across. Dorian sighed and lowered the book again until Krem removed his hand.

“Well, where do you want it?” Dorian asked, setting his book down. “Do you want it in color? Do you have the supplies? Gloves, ink, needles? Clean surface?” He watched as Krem held in a growl. “I’m not trying to discourage you, Krem. I’m genuinely concerned about this, the risk of infection in a place like this is rather high.”

Krem sighed. “I know that.”

Dorian eyed him, slowly crossing his arms. “Alright. Because I like you, let’s strike a deal.” Krem snorted. “You get me the supplies I need and I’ll do your tattoo for you.” He pushed up from his chair. “Apparently I’ve not got _enough_ jobs on my plate, I now need to have a _hobby_ as well.” He walked around Krem and headed toward the stairs. “Come find me when you’re ready, and let’s keep this a secret, shall we?”

Two weeks later and Dorian had forgotten, blissfully enjoying the sun in the garden as he moved a chess piece across from Cullen. There were Tevinter roses blooming near his feet, a gift from Josephine that had finally sprung to life all around him. They were almost as beautiful as Cassandra’s bricked laden Strawberry trellis. Sadly they were still infants, otherwise they’d be the size of his fist and budding with their second or third colors.

“I can spare the knight, but...” Cullen’s voice dragged Dorian out of his reverie, “it seems you have company.” He pointed toward one of the many doorways that led into the garden. Dorian looked up to see Lavellan striding toward him with a bright smile. Her curly blond hair bounced with every step, and there was that awful glint in her eyes that Dorian knew meant trouble.

And that was when a good majority of The Bull’s Chargers followed in after her.

“Oh _no_. She _didn’t_.” Dorian whined.

But she had, his sweet little Lavellan had spread word of his hobby and now he had what looked like a fucking queue lining up for ink. At least Krem hadn’t been the one to spill it, but he was still standing _guiltily_ in the crowd.

Cullen looked Dorian over and picked up his king from the board. “Do you want me to cause a distraction so you can get away?” He offered. Dorian just smiled at him and reached over to pat his arm.

“As sweet as the gesture is, I’ll have to pass.” He sighed, fixing a few flyaway strands of hair. “It’s time I face the music of my own making. Now, be a dear and memorize the board, don’t cheat.” Dorian pushed up from his seat and put on his best smile as Lavellan finally walked up to him.

“Dorian! I think I have a project for you!” Her excitement was evident. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. You don’t have to, I would rather you than-”

He cut her off with a hand on her arm. “Nonsense my sweet. Tell me what this project is, and why half of Bull’s _finest_ are trailing after you like lost Mabari pups.”

Lavellan grinned up at him, all teeth. Moments like these she really did remind Dorian of a dragon. “They want _horns_.” She said, something curling in her voice as she looped her arm through his.

 

–

 

“You guys are afraid of nothing.” Stitches decided as he plopped into the chair Dorian had set up. On a side table he'd set his cups of ink, several sterilized needles, and a box of leather gloves. There was a bowl of clean water and several washcloths on another table, and Dorian couldn't help but roll his eyes as he pulled a set of gloves on. The group was crowded up in huddles and whispering in fear.

None of them had wanted to go first when he'd demonstrated how the needles worked in conjunction with his magic, and Dorian had to fight not to smirk. A good five minutes had passed between them all, The Chargers bickering and Dorian waiting them out, before Stitches had pushed through the crowd with his mind made up. He laid his arm on the wooden plank Lavellan had laid out, wrist toward the ceiling.

“First victim!” Sera shouted from the doorway, a tankard in her hand.

“Darling please, you're all going to be victims at this rate. And I have plans for _you_ later.” Dorian teased as he picked up the straight razor. “I'm thinking honeycombs.”

“I'll shove an entire comb up your arse.” Sera said with a laugh. The room joined her, but it was a nervous kind of laughter.

Dorian smirked and leaned over, soapy water and hot rag against Stitches skin before he placed the razor over his wrist. He knew he had knives and swords trained on him as he shaved the inside of Stitches' forearm. Most must have assumed he'd just slit Stitches wrist, but _honestly_ , he'd been living with these people for how many years?

Coming up on three? You'd think they'd have latched on to how _harmless_ he was.

To _them_ at least.

“Did you want it in any particular color or just black?” Dorian asked when he wiped the area clean. Stitches visibly relaxed. “Oh honestly, it doesn't hurt. All of you, scared of _me_. You probably wouldn't bat an eye at a poke and stick.”

He was, of course, biased.

“No one with a thought in their skull would be scared of you.” Stitches said with an eyeroll. “White. I want it in white.” Dorian poured a small portion of white ink into a small bowl and dipped the needle into it. The ink flowed up the shoot happily with a little tug of his magic.

How Lavellan had talked these people into this he'd never know. At least the elves wouldn't be so skittish.

Dorian smiled as the lightening wrapped around his wrist and bent into the small box that held the bands around the needle. He leaned over Stitches wrist and let him take a long swig from a bottle that smelled like disinfectant more than alcohol.

“Okay... okay lets go.” Dorian rolled his eyes and pulled the skin taught before he got to work on the first line, waiting for Stitches to flinch. A lot of people did after all.

Stitches didn't seem so violently affected.

“I... I thought it would hurt more, but it just feels like someone is pulling at my muscle.” He admitted.

“Healing is what hurts, not getting the tattoo itself.” Dorian muttered. “Try not to move around.” Stitches nodded, the crowd muttering behind him. The outline was rather simple, an imitation of Bull's horns pointing toward the mans fingers. Filling it in was a little more tense, but Stitches was a good sport about it.

When Dorian was almost done, Stitches smiled so bright that it made Dorian pause before he gathered more ink.

“You look really happy right now,” Stitches admitted, “I think it's the first time I've seen you so relaxed.” His voice was low so only Dorian could hear him. “Who knew you'd enjoy something like this.”

Dorian snorted and finished the last bit of space on Stitches wrist. “People say the same thing about my sexual proclivities.” Stitches nearly doubled over with laughter as Dorian wiped his wrist clean, then wrapped the bandage over it. “There you go, keep that on for about two days. Who's next?” He asked as he began to swap out needles and inks.

It continued like that for hours, Dorian inking a set of horns on wrist after wrist, people trickling in and out of the room until finally it was just Dorian, Grim, and Krem left. Lavellan had been called away at some point, but Dorian couldn't have placed when. He stood, stretching his arms over his head as Grim sat down in the chair. He'd only just come back from a short break, food and restroom a hurried process.

“Just the two of you left?” Dorian asked as he made his way back to the chair.

“Yeah, just us.” Krem said, rubbing at his thigh. “Grim wanted me to hold his hand.” He said it with a firm seriousness. Grim just smirked.

“Admirable.” Dorian pulled on new gloves and got comfortable. “What color horns do you want?” He felt like he'd said this maybe a hundred times today, but there weren't even that many Chargers.

“Green, but with a catch.” Krem nodded to Grim, who lifted a hand to his face and put two fingers to his nose. Dorian watched as he folded down a septum ring with a shrug, then folded it back up.

Dorian smirked as he made easy work of shaving Grim's wrist. “Well, looks like I'm not the only one full of surprises.” Grim just rolled his eyes.

“He wants that tattoo'd underneath it. Got it done in Antiva on that troll job.” Krem explained. Grim smiled, obviously a happy memory.

Dorian couldn't help but smile back as he dipped his fresh needle in the green ink. “Well, why don't you tell me about it while I work?” Dorian tested the magic in the needle, grabbed a potion and downed it, then leaned over the area.

Krem chuckled. “Well, it started when Chief got a call about a troll trying to push its way into a small village in Antiva.” Krem chuckled. “Grim was fresh as a babe back then, hit like a brick but had never properly been hit back.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” Dorian muttered as he started the first line.

“Son of some well to do or whatever he was. He'd been hit, just not in the face.” Krem went on. “Anyway, Chief takes this job and brings me, Grim, and Rocky with him for a little recon. The village was this large plot, all fancy on the edges and all that. We mill’d around but there was hardly anyone there, all too scared of this troll.” Grim let out a long sigh, a happy smile on his face. “Which, funny enough, not even a huge part of this story. Grim gets the kill on the troll, we save the village, and Chief says he wants to give him a reward. Mind you he tells us all this when we're drunk as tits, and all he does is just...”

Grim lifted his other hand and made a circular motion around his nose.

“That! He just did that and looked at me. Goes, 'He's never had anything hit him in the face, that's an achievement, we should award that.' Now I'm _very_ drunk at this point and so is Grim, Rocky's already passed out.” Grim chuckled again. “So I misinterpret, because of course I do, and break Grim's nose in one swing.”

“Krem you _didn't_.” Dorian just smirked.

“I _did_ , the whole tavern got quiet. Grim's bleeding like a faucet, and I swear Chief's about to rip my head off, and then this fucker just... just _laughs_.” Krem rolled his eyes and shot Grim a fond smile. “We take him to a healer, who is _less_ than helpful by the way, and sets Grim's nose _wrong_ before healing it. So I have to break it _a_ _gain_ when Stitches sees him so _he_ heals it right. By then, damage done, his nose is absolutely crocked forever. The big thing though is it's healed, and Grim drags me out to one of those little Antivan parlous where they pierce all sorts of bits, and I paid for him to get that metal in his nose.”

“Your purse deserved it.” Grim said. Dorian lifted the needle, his eyebrows raised.

“You know,” Dorian got more ink with his needle, “I think that's the first time I've ever heard you _speak_.” He admitted. “In the three years I've known you no less.”

Grim just smirked wider as Krem snorted. “You should hear him when there’s Tequila. This idiot likes to serenade.” Krem said with a grin.

 

–

 

When Grim left, Dorian dumped the needles into the trash and looked at his last set. “You want the same as the rest of them?” He asked, standing up to stretch his legs and walk around the room. Krem looked down, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, yeah, of course.” He said, a tired note in his voice. Dorian paused by the window.

“I'm sensing a but?” Dorian asked, basking in what was left of the sunlight.

Krem seemed to slump in his armor. “It's not the only thing I want done. I told you that last time and it's still true.” He admitted. Dorian hesitated, but walked over and sat at his seat. “I don't want to ask too much of you, it's pretty obvious you're getting tired.”

Dorian smiled. “You really aren't asking too much, I'm just running out of ink and... you _are_ right, I _am_ getting tired.” He watched the way Krem's face started to close off. “I'll start this tattoo, that way it heals up and you can have the experience and pain gauge. Later on you can bring me what you want. We can talk about where you want it, plan it out with better supplies and time when you're healed. That sound good?”

Krem seemed to sag in relief. “That... that sounds really nice, actually.” He relaxed into the chair. “Can I get the horns in black?”

Dorian smiled. “Of course.”

 

–

 

The Iron Bull had been off on a mission with the rest of his Chargers, so obviously he didn't know about the ‘ _great tattoo escapade_ ’ that most of his men went through. Three weeks had gone by and everyone was more or less healed up by the time Bull had come sauntering home. Dorian didn't really think about it, too relaxed in the hammock Grim had set up for him as a thank you.

The sun in the garden had been so obscenely perfect that day that he might have fallen asleep, had Bull not flipped him off the hammock and right to the ground.

The impact had winded him, his ribs hitting first. All the air left his lungs like a jolt of lightning.

“You!” Bull's voice was a deep growl. Cullen was already charging forward, hand on his sword. Dorian could see him through Bull's legs as the wind rushed back into his lungs. “You had no right to do that!”

“Bull!” There was a commotion, a flurry of bodies and shouting. Dorian ignored it in favor of rolling away and onto his back to stare at the sky through the bottom of the rose bush. Cullen was using a few words Dorian didn't know even fit in his mouth, but everything quieted when Lavellan leaned over the side railing and peered at Dorian through the top of the roses.

“You fell down.” She pouted, her curls glowing in the sunlight. “Are you alright? Do you need any help to get on your feet?” Dorian smiled at her and shook his head, finally rolling onto his side.

“No, I'm perfectly pleasant my dearest.” He’d recovered the air that had been knocked out of him after years of practice. “This was partially my fault for not taking stock of my surroundings.” He pushed up to his knees after scooting out of the bushes, brushing off his tunic. “I didn't even hear The Iron Bull approach me.”

Cullen interjected, sounding hurt. “You shouldn't _have_ to take stock of your surroundings. This is your _home_ , you should feel safe here.” There was a soft frown growing on his face.

Dorian tried not to show the pity he felt.

“No, Cullen is right.” Lavellan said as she hoped over the wall and rose bush. She stood next to Dorian, offering him a hand up before her gaze drifted to The Iron Bull. “You could have hurt him.” There wasn't anger in her voice, nor a scolding tone. She simply stated a fact with the air of someone in complete control of their emotions.

The Iron Bull flinched.

“My temper got the better of me. I apologize Messer Pavus, Lady Lavellan.” Bull waved a hand dramatically in front of him and turned heel, still glaring as he stomped out of the gardens. Lavellan watched him go, her hand reaching out for Dorian's. He took it, letting her show a small amount of fuss, then crawled back atop the hammock and stretched out.

Cullen stayed closer this time.

 

–

 

“Did he hurt you?” Krem asked in Tevene as he stomped into the library. “What was he thinking?” Dorian looked up in surprise, having been so involved in his book that he'd forgotten his surroundings once again. He was far too comfortable lately.

Krem crossed his arms, pacing back and forth in front of Dorian's table. He looked… what was the expression? Fit to be tied?

“I assume you're referring to The Iron Bull?” Dorian asked in Trade, lifting up his bookmark and sliding it between the pages. Krem wasn’t the kind of man to back down, he’d noticed that and taken his presence into account for his day to day interactions.

“He read us the _riot act_ over our tattoos, treated us like children!” Krem threw his hands up, furious and seemingly unable to fall out of Tevene. “We're grown adults, for most of us these aren't even our first tattoos!”

Dorian watched him pace for a few more minutes, then jumped a little when Krem snatched up a chair and turned it toward the table with a heavy slam to the floor. He sat with a thud, arms crossed. Dorian waited until Krem let out an angry sigh. “I think it's more about the symbolism than the tattoo.” Dorian ventured, hoping a little conversation would tamper Krem’s fire.

“No, it's the tattoo.” Krem huffed, his nostrils flared. “Stitches got so angry he threw a pot at Chief's head and now we're fucking _grounded_. How can you ground a bunch of adults?!”

Dorian pressed his lips together, trying to fight back a smile. “Apparently, rather easily.” Krem paid him no mind.

“He told us we aren't allowed to get anymore tattoos, and now a bunch of us want to get more just to _spite_ him.” Krem ran a hand through his hair. “Dalish said you have to teach her how you do that so she can piss him off on the road.”

With a heavy sigh, Dorian propped his elbow on the table and put his head in his hand. “Nothing like the petty choices of others to redirect wrath unto me.” He muttered.

“Anyway!” Krem finally slipped back into Trade, apparently ignoring or not hearing Dorian's amused comment. “I have everything to do the piece I wanted, and since I'm ' _grounded_ ,'” he used air quotes and everything, “I figured now would be the best time to get my chest done.”

Dorian gave him a fond smile. “Krem, darling, you do realize Bull will bring down all of Skyhold on my head if I do something to piss him off further, don't you?” He watched Krem look confused for a second, then shake his head no.

“He's too sweet on you, he'd probably just yell a lot.” Krem said with a wave of his hand.

“Didn't you charge in here wondering if he'd hurt me or not in our last altercation?” Dorian was far too amused. “Best we hold off, tattoos are very addictive after all. Take your time to recover, don't get one out of spite. Get it out of devotion for your own skin. Never dive into something rash when it'll be on you forever.” He picked up his book again and tapped the spine. “Why not go talk to our lovely Inquisitor, maybe she'll be able to calm The Iron Bull's ire about future art projects.” He flipped open the book and tugged out his bookmark.

Krem huffed and stomped off, obviously not satisfied. That or he was upset at how logical Dorian was being. Either were possible at this point.

' _He's too sweet on you_.'

Dorian shook his head and tried to focus on the words in front of him instead of the ones floating around in his ears.

 

–

 

Lavellan sat propped on a cushioned high-back chair Vivienne had supplied, her shirt off and her arms pillowing her head. She was turned to the left, having a quiet conversation with Vivienne as Dorian sat behind her on a stool, peeling away the tracing paper. This was the third try lining things up and it had finally settled perfectly on either side of Lavellan's spine.

“There, how does it look?” He nodded to Vivienne, who walked around Lavellan's front and held up a hand mirror. The image reflected in the full length mirror behind her and Lavellan hummed in satisfaction.

“It's going to be so pretty.” She whispered.

“It's going to hurt just as much.” Dorian said, trying not to smile. “No backing out now though, I'd never let you live it down.” He changed gloves and picked up the needle gun, dipping it in the black ink pot. “Ready or not.”

“I'll be right here to distract you darling, or I'll be happy to get anyone you need.” Vivienne said, offering a smile. She wasn't too keen on tattooing, a waste of magic in her own words, but it was ' _rather streamline_.' Plus, Lavellan had to have done something to keep her around, hovering like a dove about to take flight.

“Could you go get Cassandra, or maybe Varric?” Lavellan asked, already biting her lip. “That way you all can take keeping me company in shifts?”

Vivienne nodded and set the hand mirror down, making an even pace to the steps. “I'll be back shortly.” She waved to Dorian and he nodded, turning back to Lavellan's skin. The first press of the needle made her flinch, the magic coursing through his arm and into the ink.

For her part, Lavellan had picked out a beautiful piece and given Dorian plenty of artistic leeway. Her tattoo would be full of thin, crisp lines and dark shadows, a play on a play she'd seen as a child as she’d told him during sketches. The last thing she'd seen with her parents before they'd taken her away to the Circle.

A King lounged sleepily near her hip, while opposite near her shoulder a Queen was sprawled out on a bed of wildflowers with a donkey curled around her hip. All throughout the piece a single thread tied the characters together, weaving through the faeries and satyr's that danced across her skin.

Dorian hadn't seen the play when he'd first sketched the idea, but Vivienne had been quick to remedy that on one of their trips to Val Royeaux. That experience had changed the sketch entirely, breathing a life into the images that Dorian hadn't been able to capture in far too long. He’d been surprised to learn the play was entirely and utterly Fereldin in make.

He was so caught up in doing the line work that he barely noticed Cassandra sitting on a stool in front of Lavellan. She'd brought a glass of water and a straw with her, and she kept a steady conversation going until Dorian finished the line work. He was surprised she had that much to talk about, seeing as the lining alone took at least three hours.

“Time for a break, I think.” He leaned back and pulled off his gloves, Lavellan's skin already wiped clean. “I need to stretch my legs, and you move about for a bit. But be careful alright?” He watched Lavellan nod before pushing to his feet and rushing for the doors that led to the private chambers of the inner circle.

The Iron Bull was standing at the far end of the walkway, leaning against Scout Harding's door and laughing as she talked wildly with her hands. He looked up in time to catch Dorian's eye and excused himself from Harding's company. She shot Dorian a wild, concerned look around Bull’s thigh.

Dorian sighed and tried not to groan too loudly. There would be another ' _talk_ ,' just what he needed. He steeled his spine, standing straighter as Bull stopped before him and crossed his arms.

“Dorian.” Bull's voice was firm.

“The Iron Bull.” A touch of mocking slipped into Dorian's tone. “Whatever can I help you with?” He waited a beat and watched the way the muscles in Bull's neck tensed.

“We need to have a few words.” Bull didn't snarl, but it was close enough.

“Alright, go on then.” He crossed his arms gently, leaning against the wall in a pose that mirrored Bull's earlier stance with Harding.

“Tattoos.” Bull ground the word out as if his mouth were a mortar.

“... Well, darling, that's _one_ word. Where are the rest of them?” He smirked when Bull raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to mock him further.

Bull let out an even sigh when Dorian said nothing. “I don't want you giving The Chargers anymore.” Dorian waited for more, but nothing came.

“No.” He made to step around Bull, but a thick arm slapped against the wall and barred his path.

“What do you mean ‘ _no_.’” Bull growled, trying to loom his way into Dorian’s space. Dorian wanted to step back, but years of facing off with his father had made his feet lead weights in a storm. He wasn’t intimidated by Bull, and the animosity they’d once shared had long since vanished.

“You are _not_ their father,” Dorian stated, “besides that, they are all grown, consenting adults. Many of them already have tattoos, many have piercings.” This subject was veering far too close to a discussion he’d had with his own father once upon a time. “Their bodies are theirs, and you do _not_ get a say in how they live in it.” He looked up at Bull and tilted his head. “But this isn’t about the tattoo itself, is it? It’s about the symbolism behind it.” Bull leaned forward and growled again, only this time with teeth.

The sound sent a delicious shiver up Dorian’s spine, his mouth watering before he blinked away those thoughts.

“Watch the attitude, _Vint_.” Bull snarled.

Dorian could have popped one of his own eyes out with how hard he barked out a laugh. “For a super spy, you are _quit_ _e_ easy to read sometimes.” This time he did take a step back. “They love you, that’s the whole point of the horns. They love you, and they’d _die_ for you. You’ve changed their lives, like it or not, and they want something real to keep with them in case anything happens to you. That’s _all_.” Looking around Bull, Dorian tried not to sigh. “May I please be on my way now?” He waited, looking Bull right in the eye before the other man stepped aside with a snarl.

He hurried by before Bull could change his mind.

 

–

 

The rest of Lavellan’s tattoo went by smoothly, and soon enough she was a sobbing mess of joy as she gazed at the finished piece in the mirrors set up to look at her back. Dorian smiled as he put the last of his tools away, then leaned back and rubbed at his temples. “I could use one hell of a drink.” He muttered, not really caring who heard him. Lavellan had already gushed and cried on him, so he had a feeling if he slipped away no one would really notice.

And so his exit was quiet, the sun setting against the walls as he crept into his room and put away his tools. Huffing, he reached for a bottle of wine and stilled his hand as he saw the way his fingers were trembling. Better to get food first or he’d suffer the hangover.

There was a sweet girl, Osira in fact, who worked in the kitchens that didn’t entirely hate Dorian that came to mind. She had showed up a twig to Skyhold a few months ago, but was currently pregnant and finally getting some meat on her bones. She was a shadow of the mage who had fled her circle and never looked back, and he’d often caught her trying to make sparks of fire catch on her fingers to kindle when they were running low. Her confidence needed serious work, her demeanor like a shy rabbit save when she was alone or with him, but she had a wicked tongue. He sought her out tonight, and the two of them took large plates and goblets out to the broken wall on the East side and sat among the rubble.

“Heard some demeanin’ rumors ‘bout you.” Osira said as she shifted, one hand on her belly and the other on her plate. “Though I doubt ‘em bein’ rumors.” Her accent was thicker this late in the day. “heard you were some great artist?” Her grin showed her missing incisor tooth. She’d told him a templar had pulled it out two years ago.

“Rumors are only harmful if you let them be.” Dorian told her before biting into his bread. Once he’d swallowed his food, he couldn’t help but grin. “But if you’re referring to Inquisitor Lavellan’s latest body art, I’m entirely guilty.”

Osira snorted and shook her head. “Wish people wouldn’t give you shit ‘bout that.” She lifted up her shirt to show of the now stretched and distorted tattoo across her belly. “Had a real pretty one, but then the baby happened.” She smiled, though it was sad. “Can’t blame the kid though, wasn’t her fault. Shouldn’t ah been so excited ta have ma freedom.” She shrugged as she lowered her shirt, her hand giving a content rub to the swell of her stomach.

“Your freedom was well earned, from how I hear it.” Dorian said pointedly. He’d heard the less than savory things that had been done to her and the others that had been in that circle. It was lucky it had only been burned to the ground. He would have liquefied it.

“Yeah.” Osira smiled and lifted up her fork. “Maybe I can save up and pay ya’ to fix it up once my little firestarter is walkin’ about.” Dorian couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned into her side.

“I’d be honored.” They shared a grin and went back to their food in comfortable silence. Osira was his favorite tonight, the best quiet kind of company.

 

–

 

“I need to talk to you.” The Iron Bull lifted Dorian right off the ground and swung him around so he was no longer watching the sparing match in the courtyard circle. Dorian blinked in shock, looking up at Bull with a confused expression. Three months had passed since they’d last spoken, and Dorian hadn’t done any tattoos or pissed off any of The Chargers. The worst he’d done was set up a fun repertoire with Krem. One that meant they sat in the library, talked shit, drank heavily, and threw wads of paper into trash bins. On one memorable occasion one had sailed over the railing and landed at Solas’ feet.

He’d blamed Lavellen.

But other than that, Dorian had been a model citizen. As far as he could stretch that, being from Tevinter and all.

“Man handling is included in the talk? How forward.” Dorian fixed his rumpled tunic and leaned back on the railing.

“Take this seriously?” Bull asked, his shoulders slumping.

Dorian offered a half smile. “If you would stop cornering me like a caught doe, I might.” He shrugged gently as a breeze blew by. “Our track record for interactions seems to be you startling me into forced conversations.” He watched the way Bull’s eye darted to the side before he shook his head.

“I wanted to apologize to you, don’t make this difficult.” Bull muttered. Dorian inhaled sharply, hearing a clatter as someone dropped a sword and people roared behind him. He waved a hand for Bull to continue. “Tattoos aren’t… bad.” His words were forced, but Dorian could hear he was straining to get them out. “But they’re not common in the Qun. Vittar is fast, fleeting, it’s heat of the moment but it’s serious. You change with every battle, you pray with every stamp or brush. A tattoo is permanent, there’s no changing your mind or letting go. You’re stuck with that forever, and if you regret it there isn’t a way to wash the pain away.”

Dorian offered a gentle smile. “Bull, you think they don’t know that?” He asked it gently, in the same tone he might if he were to pat Lavellan’s shoulder.

“I think they jumped at the chance to rebel, to strike out. Devotion has no place-”

“Love.” Dorian said sternly. “They didn’t have me tattoo horns out of devotion for you, though they are _very_ devoted. They love you, you give them back something they thought long since dead. A blind man could see that.”

“Apparently a half blind man couldn’t, so I doubt that.” Bull argued, arms crossing. Dorian just laughed, shaking his head even as he heard Cullen call out to him.

“You’re not blind so much as walking around with blinders on, like a horse or a mule pulling a cart.” Dorian didn’t have a chance to continue, as Cullen had walked up behind him and set himself between Dorian and Bull. While the two were on the other side of the fence, it was obvious he was putting himself between the men as a physical barrier should the need arise.

One of Cullen’s hands rested on the butt of his sword, while the other reached out and lay gently over Dorian’s lower back. His hand radiated warmth, and Dorian swallowed. The man couldn’t know how intimate a touch that was, he had to have thought it was just a friendly greeting.

“Bull, I’m afraid Dorian and I have an appointment to get to, do you care if I steal him?” Cullen asked, all blond smile and sweet endearments. Bull just grunted, looked down at his feet and, dare Dorian say it, looked _cowed_. “Excellent, sorry to have interrupted. Shall we?” He turned his face to Dorian and nodded toward the courtyard stairs.

Dorian had no recollection of any appointment he held with Cullen, but he nodded and walked around Bull, then joined Cullen around the fence as they began a trek up the stairs. When Dorian was positive Bull could no longer hear him, he turned to Cullen and was surprised to feel his hand drop once again to his lower back.

“Where are we going?” Dorian muttered, stepping closer to Cullen when someone rushed down the steps.

“I’m hungry, are you hungry?” Cullen sounded nervous. “I’m having food delivered to my office, a lot of it really. Join me for supper?” Cullen’s face was beat red, and Dorian nearly stumbled over himself. He put both his feet down hard in front of the keep doors and stared at Cullen for a long moment. There was a tightness to his shoulders, his breath picking up, his face still flushed.

Dorian crossed his arms. “You’re either flirting with me or trying to kill me.” He stated.

“I’m not trying to kill you!” Cullen looked shocked, almost hurt.

“Flirting it is then.” Dorian shrugged, a little playful date wouldn’t hurt. Not like it would go anywhere. “I warn you though, I’m an expensive date.” He took a step forward, striding away from Cullen’s touch and over toward the stairwell that would lead him to Cullen’s office. For his part, Cullen was blustering and stumbling over himself.

The tower wasn’t in shambles, but it wasn’t exactly pristine either. There were papers and armor littered across various surfaces, and Dorian saw a few empty ink wells being used as paper weights as he stepped into the office. Cullen rushed in passed him and started fumbling about, gathering papers and shoving things off the spare chair he kept in his office.

“Sorry, I haven’t really had the time to clean anything.” Cullen muttered. “Every time I think I have a free day, you know? Something happens.” He dumped an armful of papers into a crate behind his desk as Dorian dragged a chair over and turned it so it was facing Cullen’s at an angle.

“Don’t fret on my part, I know you can barely get a moment to breathe.” Dorian offered him a simple, practiced smile. “The fact I’m able to steal you away for chess at all is a wonder.”

That made Cullen laugh, some of the tension in his shoulders drooping as he sat heavily in his high backed chair and tugged at what remained of his armor. His hands weren’t trembling anywhere as badly as they had been the other day, but Dorian had noticed the oncoming shakes in fits and spells. From the looks of it, he was either going through withdraw, or stress was finally creeping up to kill him.

“Playing chess with you is the highlight of my week.” Cullen admitted, a soft blush creeping on his cheeks as he shed the last of his padding.

Before Dorian could make any sort of witty remark, there was a knock at the door signaling the arrival of the food.

 

–

 

Krem showed up in the library the next morning and wore a shit eating grin. Dorian sighed and put his book to the side. “Oh, what did you do today my dearest?” Dorian asked, but it was with great amusement as he pat the couch next to him. Krem quickly sat, feet already up on the table. He wasn’t wearing his chest plate today, but he did have on his heavy under-padding.

“Not what _I_ did, what _you_ did. Or perhaps who?” Krem said with a waggle of his eyebrows before he slipped into Tevene. “Did you and Cullen have passionate sex in his office after he whisked you away for dinner? Was it before dessert or _was_ it dessert?”

Dorian burst into a fit of laughter, one hand covering half of his face until he could gain control of himself. He responded in Tevene, with a vast amount of humor. “I didn’t sleep with Cullen! I didn’t even kiss him. Honestly, all we did was eat dinner, play a game of chess, and then I left. If he was attempting proper flirting, he would have at least held my hand.”

There was a falter to Krem’s smile, then his face turned serious. “You don’t think he was leading you on, do you?” Genuine concern etched his face, his hand turned palm up and open for Dorian’s. Dorian leaned into the cushions and smiled before he took Krem’s hand.

“No, I don’t think that was his intention. I think he was just… genuinely trying to spend time with me. I don’t think he even realized it was framed as a date until I pointed it out to him, but at least he didn’t let it get awkward between us.” He shrugged and stared at the rafters above them. The shadows from the candles always made the wood a warm color like honey and melted cappuccino, dashes of cinnamon bark waving against the wood.

“Do you think he _likes you_ likes you?” Krem asked, though it sounded sad.

Dorian let out his own sigh. “If he does, he makes a great point of convincing everyone he’s as straight as I’m not.” He tried not to let himself frown. “I… it wouldn’t work. I’m not a closet trophy or some back alley mistress. I may not air my personal laundry, but I’m not going to hide it like it’s lewd. I didn’t fight for my love life to be a secret.”

Krem leaned into his side and Dorian leaned back, both of them closing their eyes. “I don’t think Cullen would do that to you.” He admitted. “I think that if he makes you happy, you should go for it. You live a life where every day could be your last, live up the one you’re here for.” Dorian couldn’t help a small, delighted laugh.

“Only if you take your own advice.” He insisted, and he opened his eyes to watch the flush across Krem’s stubborn pout.

 

–

 

They were in Val Royeaux on a trip for Josephine, and Dorian had been left to his own devices for a few minutes when something silly happened. He’d done a bit of personal shopping, using the astounding company of Osira as a bargaining chip against the vendors. Though most people knew him on sight by his complexion alone, when he was on the arm of a lovely, heavily pregnant maiden it was much harder to start a fight. The two were almost inseparable these days, Lavellen having set up what she called ‘Baby Watch’ around Osira in case her water broke.

She’d seen how fond of Osira Dorian had become, and she’d swooped in like a bear over her cub. Favoritism suited Osira, she didn’t seem to mind all that much as she leaned against a pillar on a second story balcony and ate through a box of sweets. She and Dorian were gazing into the courtyard when Osira spoke up.

“Yah know.” Osira held up one of the little round cakes and twisted her wrist to examine it better in the light. Powdered sugar fell to the floor and across her new shoes. “You sure have been gettin’ an awful lot of attention lately.” There was simple curiosity in her voice before she popped the cake into her mouth, then looked pointedly into the courtyard. Dorian followed her gaze to the commanding officers grouped together, sorting through shopping bags. Bull stood tall over all of them, as he did in every situation, and next to him stood Cullen.

“It _is_ rather odd how I keep running into them, isn’t it?” He mused, shaking his head when Osira offered a little cake.

“If’n I didn’t know no better.”

“How highly your education grants you the mode of speech.” Dorian muttered with a smirk.

“I’d say you were gettin’ hit on, battle of the boys.” Osira ignored his comment, as she did so easily these days. “Wish I had boys fightin’ over me like that.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah, ya right.” Osira grinned, all teeth, then ate another cake. Dorian looked back to the balcony.

“I don’t think they’re really fighting over me, not in the way you think at least.” He listened to Osira hum for him to continue, her mouth still full. “Well, we both know Bull would and probably has fucked any willing person with a pulse and a drive, but he hasn’t exactly been flirtatious towards me in months. And then there’s the issue with Cullen’s supposed heterosexuality.”

Osira snorted. “If that boys heterosexual, I’ll let you name my baby.” She pointedly looked down at Cullen and rolled her eyes. “The man waxes his hair.”

“Krem waxes his hair.” Dorian countered. “He’s straight.”

“Krem’s got a mop a curls worse than I do, he don’t wax it he’ll look like he got struck by lightnin’ or somethin’.” She shrugged. “I think they’re hittin’ on yah, I think they’re also just dumb.” Her face twisted suddenly. “Damn, gotta piss. Hold my box.” Dorian obediently held out his hand, as this was about the fourth time in twenty minutes she’d needed to excuse herself. His best guess was that her baby was sitting on her bladder. Turning away again, he looked back into the courtyard to catch Cullen looking up at him with a fond smile. Now caught, his face flushed before he turned sharply to Bull and started up a conversation.

Maybe Osira was on to something.

 

–

 

“Dorian.” Cullen was soaked through as he ran up the steps, meeting him halfway down from the entrance. “It’s Bull.” His voice was strained, almost scared. Without thinking, Dorian reached out and the two of them held hands as they rushed down the rest of the steps in the light rain. It seemed the party had brought some of the Storm Coast back with them.

“Where’s Krem?” They’d been on some mission for the Qun, and Dorian had wanted so badly to go but Osira had just had her baby. _Someone_ had to stay and watch after her, and she didn’t trust easily.

“He’s fine, all the Chargers are fine, but Bull...” Cullen pulled them up short at the bottom of the stairs. “Dorian, they kicked him out of the Qun.”

The world seemed to echo for a few seconds, then Dorian blinked and righted himself. He turned his head, finally seeing the party approach. The Chargers were all off to one side, but they looked like worried little ducklings. Each of them was watching as The Iron Bull unloaded one of the wagons, his face blank. He looked like the perfect shadow of himself, stiff and empty.

“Cullen.” Dorian turned to the man. “What do you expect me to do?” He searched Cullen’s face and only saw pleading.

“He likes you, _fix_ him.” Cullen looked heartbroken and desperate. He wanted things to be right again, but at the same time he only saw one way to do that. “Bull responds to you, if you sit with him...”

Cutting in, Dorian squeezed his hand. “If _we_ sit with him, you mean.” He made a point of looking down at their joined hands. “Go to my room, bring wine, ale, whatever alcohol you can carry. Stoke the fire, I’ll bring him up shortly. Try to have everything ready.” Cullen didn’t argue before he ran toward the cellar. Once he was far enough away, Dorian sucked in a lungful of the icy air and marched toward the group.

He would solve the problem the only way he knew how, with absolute brute force.

“Bull.” He watched as the man looked up, no depth in his eye. “Have a drink with Cullen and I, we want to welcome you home.” He held out a hand and could see the way the rest of the Chargers were attempting to wave him away. There wasn’t a mountain that could move him though, and he watched The Iron Bull move as if he’d had a slow spell cast on him.

Bull didn’t need to be treated like glass, he needed to get drunk and feel normal, not like the world had just crashed down around his ears. If there was one thing Dorian knew about being forced out of the life you loved by your own choices, and it was obvious it had been a choice, it was that trying to pick back up afterwards felt like being dragged over hot coals. The only thing you wanted to do was pretend like nothing had happened.

“Yeah... yeah okay.” Bull’s voice was low, full of gravel. Were it under any other circumstances the rough texture would have went right to Dorian’s cock, but the empty look in Bull’s eye as he took Dorian’s hand and let him lead the way toward the stairs only left an ache of familiarity.

Looking back, he caught Krem’s grateful gaze and offered a gentle smile. He could handle one heartbroken qunari for the evening.

 

–

 

Three weeks and a handful of days had passed, and Dorian was laying sprawled out on one of the tables in the cellar with Osira, her baby tucked against her chest as she breastfed. The two of them were down here for the peace and quiet, and also because there were Tevinter delegates upstairs that Josephine wanted to keep a continent away from Dorian on principal. Dorian was showing Osira how to cast a very simple light spell to dazzle her infant, and so far things had been going well.

A knock at the doorway had them both looking up as The Iron Bull ducked into the cellar, one hand over his horns. He looked over at them when he’d cleared the frame and offered a lopsided grin.

“There you two are.” His voice was finally starting to sound less hollow. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“It’s the nicest place to hide.” Dorian admitted. “No one comes down here.” He sat up and placed his hands gently over his knees. “How can we help you?”

Osira wiggled her eyebrows at Bull, who snorted and waved her off. “I uhh… I came looking for you to apologize for how I was acting a few weeks ago. And also for a _proper_ apology for a few months back, about The Chargers tattoos. I got to talking with Cullen and realized the one I gave you back then just… wasn’t good enough.” He admitted, both his hands clapped together as they pointed to Dorian.

“Oh, should I leave the room?” Osria teased.

“Nonsense darling, I need the audience.” Dorian said primly. “Do go on.” He leaned back on the table and buffed his nails on his tunic. Bull’s chuckle was bright and much more himself than it had been, and Dorian felt a joy in his chest he hadn’t expected.

“When I came back from the Storm Coast I wasn’t… all _there_. I leaned too heavily on you and Cullen, and neither of you should have had to pick me up like that, but I’m grateful to you both for doing it anyway. Also… I was out of line to try and tell you not to give people tattoos. They’re their own people, and I don’t have a say in what they can or cannot put on their skin. No matter how dumb it looks.” He muttered that last bit.

“Sera’s showing off the vagina flower ‘gain, ain’t she?” Osira asked with a smirk. “How’d ye even talk ‘er inta that?”

“I’m a master diplomat.” Dorian said with an air of confidence. “But Bull, you were forgiven months ago. Everyone views tattoos differently, from you to Cullen to Krem.” He waved a hand in the air and shrugged. “But unless you want one, don’t worry about bringing it up again. I know where your head and heart lay.” He offered a sweet smile. “Oh, but before you go, could you bring us down some food? I’m _starving_.”

“Tits alive, _please_! I could murder a pork cutlet.” Osira moaned.

Bull grinned at both of them. “I’ll get Cullen and Varric to help me bring some food and wine down.” He paused and smirked. “How are you at cards?”

Both Osira and Dorian grinned. “Better than Cullen is.” They said in unison.


End file.
